


Tell Her This

by Eowyn315



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eowyn315/pseuds/Eowyn315
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you so angry about? Isn’t this what you always wanted, for Buffy to come chasing after you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Slaymesoftly, Snickfic, and Angearia for betaing.

He had pictured the moment a thousand times, a thousand different ways, but never in any of his imaginings had he smelled like a Chaos demon when it happened.

Spike really, really hated Chaos demons. It didn’t help that Dru had left him for one, way back in the day, but even without that they were repulsive buggers. Hard to fight, too, with the slime all over and the antlers swinging around haphazardly. Dangerous things, they were. Oh, sure, they looked all genteel in their three-piece suits and loafers, but just try pissing one of them off sometime, see what happens.

He and Angel had taken out three of them at an apartment in Culver City, where they had some sort of racket going that Angel insisted needed to be stopped. Spike wasn’t one to argue; give him a good scuffle and the reasons didn’t matter. Of course, enthusiasm was all well and good, but now they were pretty much covered in foul-smelling goop as they trudged back into the Wolfram & Hart offices, battle axes in hand.

“Bloody hell, mate, you oughta pay me extra for this.”

Angel rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t even dignify Spike with a glance in his direction, but Spike could tell he’d rolled his eyes. He just had that stance, the slightly tipped-back head, the exasperated shoulders. Spike knew that stance well. Once upon a time, it had usually preceded a good thrashing, but these days it was nothing more than an idle warning.

“I don’t pay you at all, Spike.” Angel jabbed at the elevator’s call button, then ran his hand through his hair, spiking it back into place. Even copious amounts of hair gel were no match for Chaos demon gunk.

Now it was Spike’s turn to roll his eyes. As if he hadn’t noticed that he was – for reasons beyond his comprehension – helping Angel out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn’t exactly keen on being put on the Wolfram & Hart payroll, but he didn’t much fancy doing them favors for free, either. And yet, somewhere along the line, he’d stopped being a deliberate pest and started making himself useful.

“Might wanna look into it.” He brushed a hand over the front of his duster and a globule of slime slid down, hitting the floor with a plop. “You know how hard it is to get Chaos demon out of leather?”

Angel eyed his own slime-covered leather coat with dismay. “Yeah.”

The elevator doors opened and the two of them tried to get in at the same time, getting themselves stuck shoulder to shoulder in the opening. They glowered at each other. Some things never changed.

After a brief struggle, Angel shoved Spike into the elevator and stepped in after him. “Pillock,” Spike muttered, choking up on his axe and taking a practice swing at his grandsire.

“Watch it, we just had this elevator re-paneled after that incident with the Grak’lok demons,” Angel warned him, leaning his own axe against the elevator’s side panel. He pressed the button for his floor and folded his arms across his chest. They ascended in silence, exchanging deadly glares until Angel couldn’t hold it in anymore and let an “idiot” slip from his lips. Spike fixed him with a victorious smirk and raised the axe over his head threateningly, just as the elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding.

Harmony was waiting for them with a broad smile and an overly peppy, “Hi, Boss!” Spike lowered the axe with a grumble – he hadn’t been planning to use it anyway – and followed Angel out of the elevator.

Harmony wrinkled her nose at him. “Eww, why do you smell like you slept in your own vomit?”

“It’s Chaos demon, Harm,” Spike replied. He tried to drape his arm around her, breaking into a gleeful grin when she shrieked.

“Get off me, you disgusting freak!” She ducked out of his gooey embrace and swatted him with a file folder. “This is a brand new sweater!” Spike just chuckled. She was kind of cute when she was angry.

“Harmony, I’ll be in my office,” Angel said, striding past her down the hallway. “And bring me a change of clothes, will you?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, uh, I wouldn’t go in there, Boss,” she said, scampering after him.

“Why not?”

She managed to get past him and blocked his path. “Uh, just… you know. Beautiful day outside, who wants to be cramped up in an office, right?” She gave him a sheepish smile and a little breathy giggle, which Spike knew from experience meant _I’m lying to you and I’m really bad at it and I hope you won’t notice._

Angel stared at her. “Harmony,” he said, speaking very slowly so she’d understand. “I’m a vampire. The only way I’m going to enjoy the beautiful day is through the necro-tempered windows _in my office_!”

He brushed past her, leaving her sputtering as she desperately tried to come up with some other way to keep him out of his office. Spike, on Angel’s heels, just shook his head at Harmony’s inanity before she could appeal to him, too.

“Angel!” she tried one last time. “This is important!”

“Not now, Harm.”

“Okey-dokey,” she said with a shrug, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she returned to her desk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Spike was still chuckling over Harmony when he realized that Angel was giving him a hard time again.

“…and really, you call that a punch?” Angel jibed him, pushing open his office door.

“Hey! The digits are still a bit sensitive, you know?” He wiggled them in the air as a demonstration. “But you!” He circled around and jabbed one finger into Angel’s chest. “Excellent work, with the falling down and the getting pummeled.”

“Ha ha,” Angel replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe if you’d been covering my back like I asked you to –”

“It’s good to see you two getting along so well.”

Both vampires spun around at the sound of the voice to find Buffy standing behind Angel’s desk, arms crossed over her chest, a deadly expression on her face.

Spike was the first to recover his voice. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, standing stock-still and staring at her. God, he hadn’t seen her since - well, since they closed the Hellmouth. It hadn’t been that long, really, six or seven months, but the time had done wonders for her. She’d lost that gaunt, stretched-to-the-breaking-point look – the dark circles under her eyes had vanished, she looked like she was back up to a healthy weight, and her skin glowed bronze from what was presumably months of Mediterranean sun worship.

Those eyes, on the other hand… those eyes were exactly the same. Full of spitfire and determination. And right now, they were aimed at him.

He knew he should do something, say something, but he was utterly unprepared for this. He’d practiced it when he was a ghost, hundreds of times, rehearsed the words he would say to her once he became solid and could finally leave this godforsaken law firm to go find her. But once the big day arrived, it had all seemed rather foolish. He knew what her response would be. Why torture them both by making her say it out loud?

It was better this way. He knew the truth, deep down, but at least he’d never have to hear it from her lips.

Of course, that theory sort of hung on the contingent that she not suddenly appear in Angel’s office and throw him for a loop. The whole point was that Buffy existed somewhere out there, someplace he’d never go, like the beach on a sunny day or a Barbra Streisand concert. She was a fond, distant memory – emphasis on the distant. The whole being-in-the-same-room thing never factored into his plan.

“Buffy?” said Angel, but her focus wasn’t on him. She strode purposefully around the desk and hit Spike with a fierce right hook, her fist smashing into his face before he even saw it coming.

“Ow!” he yelped, too stunned to fight back. He rubbed his jaw and gave her a wounded expression.

Angel tried not to laugh, but a snort slipped out in spite of himself. He quickly sobered up when Buffy whirled around and punched him, too.

“Hey!” he said, gaping at her indignantly. She threw a glare in his direction before turning back to Spike.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?”

Yeah. How to explain that one? “Well, I was gonna call, but I was a ghost, see, so I couldn’t pick up the phone.” Her hands balled into fists at his flippancy, but she held back the urge to hit him again.

“Then, I was corporeal,” Spike continued, “but I got my hands cut off, so again, couldn’t pick up the phone.” His eyes met hers and he faltered. “And all the times in between, well, I just… didn’t know what to say,” he finished, dropping his gaze to his slime-covered combat boots.

“Why don’t I just leave you two alone?” said Angel, inching his way to the door. It was a surprise that the poof was willing to leave his beloved unsupervised in Spike’s presence, but with the state Buffy was in now, Angel was probably counting on her killing him and taking the nuisance off his hands.

Buffy spun back to face Angel, fuming. “Oh, don’t think you’re getting out of this one so easily.”

“What did I do?” he squeaked, in a very un-Angel-like high pitch that only pure Buffy-terror could bring out.

“You knew he was alive, and you didn’t tell me.”

Angel spared a glance at Spike. “It wasn’t really my place to.”

She stepped closer to him and said, in a low, intense voice, “You knew what he meant to me.”

Angel wilted, his large, hulking frame shrinking with guilt. “I’m sorry…”

She shook her head, turning away from him and rubbing her eyes in frustration. “I’ll deal with you later,” she said, sounding somewhat defeated.

He nodded. “I’ll just see if Harmony’s got that change of clothes. I’ll be around, if you need me.” He paused at the door. “It’s – it’s good to see you, Buffy.”

She just gave him a reproachful look in response as he carefully shut the door, leaving them alone in his office.

It was a long time before she spoke, and she wouldn’t meet Spike’s eyes when she did. “I didn’t know you worked for Evil Incorporated, too.”

“I don’t. Bastard won’t pay me.”

She snapped her head up, staring at him like she was trying to figure out if he was serious or kidding, so he added, “I do my own thing, out there championing and such. Just lend a hand around here so’s Captain Hair Gel doesn’t get himself killed.”

“I don’t remember you caring that much about his welfare before.”

“Well, a lot’s changed.”

“Apparently.” She fell silent again, studying him. He didn’t know what she was staring at so intently. Of all the things that had changed, his appearance wasn’t one of them.

Her brows furrowed in confusion and disgust. “What is that smell?”

“Chaos demon,” he replied. He shrugged out of his duster, which had taken the brunt of the slime. His jeans were a little gooey, but his t-shirt had remained fairly unscathed. He paused for a moment in consideration, and then dropped the coat on Angel’s desk. “Just took out a group of ’em. If we’da known you were here, would’ve invited you along. Assuming you’re still into the whole slaying thing. Imagine the job descrip’s changed a bit, what with all the new slayers around now. Saw a bunch of ’em not too long ago, you know. Well, I didn’t; I was unconscious, but Angel –”

“Stop it! Please.” She pressed her fingers to her temples.

Spike cleared a space on Angel’s desk and perched on it, his legs dangling and his hands in his lap. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, and less with the rambling. “Guess the little pipsqueak ratted me out after all.”

“Yeah,” Buffy admitted. “He had to report what happened to you, so they’d know what to do about Dana.” She approached him slowly, taking his hands in hers, a hesitant, tender gesture. “Did it hurt?”

“Like hell,” he said, pulling away from her touch. He flexed his fingers and rolled his wrists. “Been playing video games, sorta physical therapy, you know? Keeps ’em active. Getting pretty good at Donkey Kong, saving the damsel in distress and all.”

He was babbling again. His hands dropped back into his lap, but Buffy didn’t try to touch him again. She backed away, sinking down on the arm of the sofa.

“This – isn’t how I planned for this conversation to go,” she said. Wasn’t quite what he’d envisioned, either. She shook her head. “God, why is this so hard?”

“Dunno, pet.”

She flinched at the endearment, and that was all he needed to understand exactly how she felt about him now. He swallowed down the burning sensation in his throat. Just being in the same room with her suddenly seemed unbearable.

“We used to talk, didn’t we?” she asked. “We used to have conversations like normal people. Why can’t we –”

“Never really talked that much,” he said, letting out a long, slow breath. “That was one of the rules, wasn’t it? No talking, no romance, nothing that could be mistaken for a relationsh–”

“Stop it!” She flew off the sofa, hurling herself at him, knocking him back onto Angel’s desk. He sprawled across it, sending papers and knickknacks tumbling to the floor. That was his girl, never bothered with words when a punch would do. She skittered backwards, looking at him with a wide-eyed, wounded expression. “You’re just going to hurt me now, is that it? Is that what I came here for?”

Spike leapt off the desk. “I don’t know what you bloody well came here for! Didn’t ask you to come.”

“No. You didn’t.”

At her accusing tone, something in him snapped. “Well, it’s not all about you, now is it? What’s the matter, Slayer? Annoyed I won’t be your lapdog anymore?”

Buffy blanched. “No – that’s not – I didn’t –”

“No? Done nothing but order me around since I walked in here.” Spike snatched his coat from Angel’s desk. “Not the same pathetic sod you knew, pet. I got my balls back.” With that, he marched toward the door and flung it open, ignoring Buffy’s stunned expression as he slammed the door behind him.

He got about halfway down the hall before he put his fist through the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

“You couldn’t have mentioned she was in my office?” Angel demanded, heading toward Harmony’s desk. “You couldn’t fit that in?”

“You were being difficult,” Harmony replied, handing him a clean shirt and pants. Angel glared at her, grabbing the clothes out of her hand, and ducked into an empty office to change. Just as he came back out, still buttoning up his shirt, Buffy came flying down the hallway.

“Whoa, whoa, Buffy.” Angel stepped into her path and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Buffy, stop.”

“Get off me!” she cried, jerking out of his grasp.

“Buffy, look, I know you’re upset…”

“No!” She looked up at him, eyes bright with fury. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to play good cop.”

Angel gave her a pleading look. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I –”

“You what? You sat there in your office, and you _comforted_ me when he died! You said you _understood_!” Buffy accentuated each sentence by punching him in his bicep. “And you didn’t think I’d want to know he was alive?”

“Of course I did. I just –”

“If the words ‘for your own good’ come out of your mouth, I swear to God, Angel, I will stake you right here.”

Angel quickly shut his mouth, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he said, leading her back into his office and closing the door behind them. “I admit, part of it was selfish. I couldn’t stand the thought of you with him – but I never stopped him, Buffy,” he finished in a rush, as the anger on her face intensified. “I never stopped him from leaving here. Never stopped him from picking up the phone. That was his choice.”

He glanced down at his belongings strewn across the floor and the thin coating of slime on his desk, and he heaved a sigh. Gingerly picking a paperweight off his chair, he sank down in his seat, already weary of the Buffy-and-Spike drama.

“So, you’re saying he just stopped loving me, all on his own?” Buffy asked him, her tone bitter and skeptical.

Angel grimaced. “Is that so hard to believe? Look, I don’t know what went on in Sunnydale, but Spike… I think he likes it here. At any rate, he refuses to leave, and I can’t believe there’s nothing in the world he’d rather do than annoy me.”

“Why didn’t he tell me he was alive?” she asked softly.

“Because he’s an idiot?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Could you at least pretend like you give a damn?”

“I mean it,” Angel insisted. “I’m not just saying that because I dislike him.”

“Angel.”

“Sorry. Look, he’s had a lot to deal with, you know? With the ghost thing, and the soul…”

“He had the soul for a year before you came along with your shiny necklace of death!”

Angel held up his hands defensively at the sudden left turn the conversation had taken. “Whoa, whoa, hey! Are you saying this is _my_ fault? Because you were the one who sent me away and gave the amulet to Spike.”

“I know that!” Realizing what she’d just said, her hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she turned away from him.

“Buffy,” he said gently, wishing he could retract his last statement. “You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

Before she could respond, the office door swung open and Gunn stuck his head in. “Hey, what’s going on with Blondie?” he asked, earning a stern glare from Buffy. “Not you,” he clarified quickly. “The usual one.”

Angel took a sidelong glance at Buffy, trying to signal her relevance to Gunn with a subtle jerk of his head in her direction. Gunn just stared at him blankly.

“Gunn, this is Buffy,” Angel tried.

“Buffy? You mean _the_ B– oh.” All the pieces came together, and he looked back over his shoulder, as though Spike were still out in the hall. “Ohhh, right.” He stepped all the way into the room and stuck out his hand. “Charles Gunn. Nice to meet you.”

Frowning, Buffy took his hand. “Great. Apparently my love life is the hot topic at the evil corporate water cooler.”

“And that’s not looking to change any time soon, if Spike keeps punching holes in other people’s offices.” Gunn turned back to Angel. “You might wanna get on that, by the way.”

“I’ll get it fixed,” he said wearily, massaging his forehead with one hand.

“Angel,” Gunn said, with a pointed look. “I’m not just talking about the holes.”

*****

Angel managed to get both of them off his back by promising to talk to Spike, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He had enough on his mind without trying to sort out Spike’s issues. He’d barely even had a chance to grieve for Cordy, and here Spike was throwing a tantrum because Buffy happened to show concern for his well-being.

Besides, he knew Spike, and there was no way he was as over Buffy as she seemed to think he was. He could be contrary or deliberately obtuse at times, but when he loved someone, he did it with every fiber of his being, and he was only giving her a hard time because… well, Angel didn’t know why. It didn’t matter why. The point was that Spike would be throwing himself at Buffy’s feet again soon enough, just like he always had with Dru, so why bother rushing the inevitable?

But then again, Spike wasn’t one to give up on something he wanted, and yet he was still here in Los Angeles. He'd never gone after Buffy, never even tried to contact her. Something must have changed since the day he’d popped out of that amulet, but Angel had been too busy thinking of Spike as a pest to bother finding out what it was.

He found Spike in one of the Wolfram & Hart training rooms, beating the hell out of a punching bag. Good to see he’d moved on to something constructive, at least.

“Spike.”

No response, just the slap of flesh on vinyl and the accompanying grunts of effort. Spike kept his eyes on the bag with single-minded focus.

“Spike!”

When he again received no reaction, Angel marched over to the punching bag and grabbed it, pulling it away so that Spike’s fist met nothing but air.

“Hey! Working here, you berk,” he complained, ready to take a swing at Angel if he didn’t relinquish the bag. “Let go.”

“What happened with Buffy?” Angel asked, ignoring his irritation.

“Nothing.”

“So you’re hitting everything in sight over nothing?”

“Yeah, and your face is starting to look pretty appealing,” Spike warned him.

Angel let go of the punching bag, holding his arms out in a “bring it on” gesture. “You wanna give it a go, be my guest.”

Spike hesitated a moment, then flung his fist at Angel’s nose. Angel was expecting it, and ducked out of the way, retaliating with a punch of his own that caught Spike on the jaw.

“What are you so angry about?” Angel asked, blocking a roundhouse kick to his head. “Isn’t this what you always wanted, for Buffy to come chasing after you?” Okay, that came out a little more bitter than he’d intended. All those times they’d fought over Buffy, it had never really been about her, but it still bugged him to have to admit Spike was right. He landed a kick to Spike’s chest, only to have his legs swept out from under him.

“She’s not chasing me, mate,” Spike replied, dodging away as Angel kipped to his feet and launched another attack. “Came here to tell me off. God forbid I make a move without asking her permission.”

“Right.” Angel grabbed Spike by the throat and tossed him into the wall. “I’m sure it’s not because she cared about you or anything.”

“Sure got a funny way of showing it.”

“Bet she’s saying the same thing about you.”

Spike caught him under the chin, snapping his head back. “What, ’cause I didn’t tell her I was alive?”

“I know,” Angel deadpanned. “Girls can be pretty unreasonable about things like that.”

He doubled over from a kick to the gut, and Spike took the opportunity to slam him facedown on the floor. “She lied to me,” he said, as Angel flipped himself over. “Right there at the end. We both knew it. What’s the use of ripping all that open again, hurting us both?”

Angel got to his feet again and punched Spike in the face, catching his tongue between his teeth. Angel could smell the blood welling up. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You’ll argue ’til my ears bleed that what you had with Buffy was real, but now that she’s here, you’re telling me she’s a liar and she doesn’t care about you?”

“Maybe I just like arguing with you,” Spike replied, wiping a spatter of blood from his chin.

In a flash, Angel had twisted Spike’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. Seizing him in a headlock, Angel demanded, “Tell me the truth.”

“Fuck off,” Spike retorted, struggling against the weight of the larger vampire bearing down on him until he was almost doubled over.

“Tell me!” Angel’s hold tightened around his neck, his grip wrenching Spike’s arm at an even more painful angle.

“She doesn’t love me,” Spike said finally, his voice hitching. “You happy now, you asshole? She doesn’t love me; she never loved me. Is that what you want to hear?”

Angel’s iron grasp eased, and instead of being forced to the floor, Spike was suddenly being hugged against the solid chest behind him. “I’m sorry,” Angel murmured, letting him go so quickly it barely even seemed to have happened.

Standing behind him, Angel watched as Spike remained on his knees, his thin shoulders heaving silently. Unexpectedly, he found himself feeling the same way he had when he’d come across Spike in that warehouse, drugged, his hands lying on the table next to him. Seeing him in pain aroused more sympathy than Angel cared to admit.

For all his annoyances and frustrations, Spike was family.

*****

When Angel made it back to the guest suite he’d asked Harmony to arrange for Buffy, he found her on the phone making travel arrangements. “You’re leaving already?”

Buffy hung up and glanced at him from her perch on the sofa, her eyes widening at his torn, rumpled shirt and bruised face. “What happened to you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Yes,” she sighed, tossing her cell phone on the coffee table. “I booked a flight back. No point in staying.”

Well, that stung a little bit. “Don’t – don’t go yet, okay?” Angel asked, leaning over the back of the sofa and running his hands nervously across the cushions. “I haven’t seen you in months, and it’d be a waste if you turned right around and went home.”

Buffy hesitated, trying to read his intentions. With a discomfited expression, she said, “Angel… I came here for Spike.”

“I know.”

“What I mean is that you and I – ”

“I get it, Buffy,” Angel interrupted. For all her confusing talk of cookie dough and thinking ahead, he knew where they stood. He’d known for a long time, really, but old habits died hard. Their time had passed.

Maybe he should just let her go. Asking her to remain in Los Angeles would only put her in Spike’s path, and while he had great confidence in Spike’s ability to screw this up all on his own, he didn’t exactly want a front row seat to the show. If Spike was going to be an idiot and drive her away, there was no reason he should interfere.

“No pressure or anything,” he found himself saying. “Just… stay.”

“Angel, I really don’t –”

“Is it because you don’t trust me?”

She stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Andrew,” he reminded her. “When he was here with his slayer posse, he said none of you trusted me anymore.”

Buffy smirked. “News flash. Giles and Xander _never_ trusted you.”

“He mentioned you specifically.”

“Did he?” she replied, although her tone of voice made it hardly seem like a question. “Andrew has a very… special relationship with the truth.”

A tiny smile crept onto his face. “So I’ve noticed.”

“You know me better than that, Angel.” She gave him a wry grin. “If I thought you were evil, I’d kill you myself.”

“Comforting. So, come on, then,” he said, taking a seat next to her. “Just stay for a few days?”

She opened her mouth to protest, then reconsidered and nodded. “Now you wanna tell me who beat you up?”

“Spike. Who else?”

Again, she appeared ill at ease. “Please tell me you weren’t fighting over me.”

Angel gave her a sheepish look. “Well, not in the conventional sense, no.”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I asked for too much. I sent him off to die. I don’t blame him for not – Who would do that to someone they love?”

He slid an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. “Buffy, what happened to Spike was nobody’s fault.”

“Do you really believe that, or is it just what you tell yourself so you don’t have to feel guilty?”

Angel flinched. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, but he was haunted by the knowledge that the amulet had been meant for him. Wolfram & Hart must have expected him to wear it when Lilah gave it to him. Everything Spike had been through – burning up, getting trapped in the amulet, being a ghost – all that was supposed to happen to him. Spike might have tried to steal his destiny, but he had already taken his punishment.

“Sorry,” Buffy said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shook his head. “Look, none of us knew what that amulet was going to do. Of course there was a chance it was dangerous. But Spike chose to be a hero.”

“Because I gave it to him,” Buffy insisted. “He wouldn’t have said no to me.”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Angel said. “I think he – he wants to be a champion. Wanted it enough to try and take it away from me, at least.”

“I guess you’d know better than I would these days, huh?” she replied, with just a touch of envy in her voice. “Since he’s been here all this time. I still can’t get my head around the idea of you two working together.”

“Technically, we don’t _work_ together. Spike just, you know, helps out occasionally.”

“But you’re not trying to kill each other?”

Angel leaned back against the couch and sighed. “Most days.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, Angel doesn’t ever have to know,” Spike said, leaning across the desk and putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

Harmony responded with her sternest, most disapproving look. “No.”

“I’ll have it back before he even notices it’s gone.”

“I said no, Spike.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the chime of the elevator arriving. Spike turned his head to watch as Buffy stepped out into the reception area, his attempt to wheedle a car out of Harmony all but forgotten. Harmony, too, fell quiet, no doubt sensing the tension between them.

“Hi,” Buffy said, shifting uneasily under their stares. “I was just, uh, looking for Angel.”

“You’re still here,” Spike said flatly, his voice not betraying any emotion. Which was pretty easy to do, actually, since he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about it. He wanted to read it as a sign, that maybe she cared for him more than he’d allowed himself to believe, but he’d been down that road one too many times to give in to hope.

“Way to be rude, Spike,” Harmony scolded him.

“Angel asked me to stay a few days,” Buffy said.

Of course he did. Spike should’ve expected nothing less.

She hesitated. “Unless – do you want me to go? If you’d rather I –”

"Not at all." He didn’t know what he wanted. “Harmony was just about to give me the keys to the Viper –”

“I was not!”

“– so I’ll be out of your hair in no time. You and Angel have a nice – well. Not too nice, I suppose. Wouldn’t want that soul of his going on walkabout again.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, but she managed to bite back whatever snappy retort had come to mind. With an icy calm, she said, “I’m not here to have sex with Angel.”

Spike nodded sagely, as though this were a philosophical discussion in which he had no vested interest. “Probably for the best.”

“Don’t give me that. You know why I came, Spike.”

“Right, well, you’ve had your say. Popped me one in the nose for old time’s sake. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do elsewhere, so…” He sidestepped around her and headed for the elevator, but she was hot on his heels.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.” He stepped into the waiting elevator and tried to press the “door close” button, but Buffy was too fast, planting herself in the way so that the doors jerked to a halt.

“Are you going to kill things?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come?”

Spike sighed, resigned. “Fine. But I get to drive.”

*****

“I thought you had to get the keys from Harmony,” Buffy asked as they got off the elevator at the underground parking garage. She was starting to have second thoughts about asking to tag along when Spike so clearly didn’t want her around, but she wasn’t about to back out now.

Spike plucked a set of keys off the extensive rack hanging on the wall and headed out into the lot. “Nah. Angel’s just got a bee in his bonnet about me driving the Viper, so he has Harmony hide the keys. All the rest of ’em are fair game.”

“Wow.” Buffy halted in her tracks, taking in the fleet of cars in the garage. “These are all his?” She was starting to get why everyone was so suspicious of the deal Angel had made with Wolfram & Hart.

“One of the perks,” Spike replied, stopping in front of a red one. “How about the Charger?”

Buffy assumed that was the name of the car. “Fine. Do we need weapons?”

He pressed a button on the keyless entry remote, and the trunk popped open, revealing a stash of battle axes, swords, and crossbows. “Already fully stocked.”

“Handy.”

It wasn’t until Spike pulled out of the garage into the bright afternoon sunlight that it occurred to Buffy that the windows weren’t blacked out like they had been in Spike’s old car.

“Wait!” she cried. “You can’t…” She trailed off as she realized Spike wasn’t going up in flames. “How…?”

“Special glass,” he explained, tilting his face into the sunlight like a cat warming itself on the windowsill. “No combustion.”

She couldn’t help gazing over at him, so rarely had she seen him bathed in light like this. The sun danced across his pale face, accentuating the sharp planes and angles, bringing a sparkle to his eyes that seemed wholly at odds with the almost cruel indifference she felt from him. Her vision blurred, and the present image faded into the last time she’d seen him glowing with light. When he was burning up from the inside out.

She turned away from him suddenly, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat. She couldn’t manage any more small talk, so they drove in silence for a while, Buffy gazing out at the bustling city streets. She’d grown up in this city, and yet it seemed strange, foreign. She was no longer the girl who’d lived here, hadn’t been that girl for a long time. After Sunnydale was destroyed, Angel had asked her to stay in Los Angeles, but she’d opted for Europe instead, unable to stomach being an alien in her own hometown. If she was going to feel like a stranger, she might as well actually be in a foreign country.

Rome would probably never truly feel like home. But Dawn was there, and she had a squad of slayers to train, and if she closed her eyes, the Roman ruins had an aura of death that reminded her of Sunnydale's crypts.

When she couldn’t stand the cold shoulder from Spike any longer, she said, “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot and I –”

“Oh, you think?” he replied, heavy with sarcasm. “You hauled off and punched me before I’d even gotten a word in.”

“I – I don’t know why I did that,” she admitted. “It wasn’t how I wanted this to go when I found out you were alive – well, okay, yeah, at first I wanted to punch you, but then I had the entire plane ride over here to think about it, and I planned out this whole rational speech thing, no violence whatsoever.”

Spike just raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the road. “And then?”

“And then I got here and I… I don’t know.” She sighed. “Seeing you there, I got angry all over again. How could you not _tell_ me?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Spike pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse and parked in an alley where the long shadows of the surrounding buildings provided enough shade for him to safely get out of the car.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she snapped, slamming her car door shut with more force than necessary before circling around to meet him at the trunk. “You could’ve tried, ‘Hi, Buffy, turns out I’m not as dead as we thought.’”

“And after that? I was finished, Buffy.” He selected an axe and stood back to let her choose her weapon. She picked a crossbow and a quiver of wooden bolts. “You of all people ought to understand that.”

“I do! That’s why you should’ve come to me –”

“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupted, closing the trunk and starting toward the warehouse’s side entrance. “ _We_ were finished. Tearful goodbyes, flamey death, the end. I was happy with the way we ended. You thought I died a hero; that’s how you’d remember me.”

“So you couldn’t tell me you were alive because it would ruin the big finish? You _asshole_.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she stormed into the warehouse, slamming the door behind her.

She immediately felt childish for doing it, and it was a wasted effort anyway, since the door opened again a second later as Spike followed her inside.

“Good job,” he muttered. “Now they’ll be sure to know we’re here.”

In the heat of the argument, she’d almost forgotten that they were here to slay things. The warehouse was dark, save for a few faint rays of sunlight that filtered through the shoddily blacked-out windows, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. Tall stacks of wooden pallets, the goods shrink-wrapped so she couldn’t see what was on them, created a maze full of hiding places for things that lurked in the dark.

“Is this one of Angel’s cases?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Purely extracurricular.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Vampires.” His voice was low and gruff in her ear, his breath tickling her neck, and she shivered at how close he’d managed to get without making a sound. Yeah, that reaction was definitely about the vampire stealth thing, and not at all to do with the fact that if she leaned back just a fraction, she’d be pressed up against his chest.

Quickly, she took a step away from him. “How many?”

“Five, maybe six? Guess we’ll find out.”

They split up, each making their way down one of the corridors created by the shrink-wrapped walls of merchandise. Buffy brushed her fingers against one of the pallets and they came away coated with dust and grime.

She heard the sounds of a fight coming from the direction Spike had gone, a split second before she felt the weight of the vampire landing on her shoulders. The momentum knocked her to the ground, but she threw him off before he could pin her to the cement floor. She kipped to her feet, somewhat off balance from the crossbow and quiver slung across her back. Dropping them on the floor, she fell into a fighting stance. She ducked a punch, then grabbed the vampire and threw him against the pallets. The force of the impact caused that section of the makeshift wall to wobble precariously before toppling over, with the vampire at the bottom of the heap.

“Hey!” Spike exclaimed indignantly from just beyond the breach. “Watch it, Slayer!”

“Sorry,” she called back. It frustrated her that the wall separated her from Spike. They’d always fought best when they were together, side by side, so they could play off one another and cover each other’s backs. She’d slain plenty of vampires in Rome, but it wasn’t until now, when he was so close and yet still she was fighting alone, that she realized how much she missed slaying with him.

Another vampire lunged out of the darkness. She grabbed a makeshift stake from the broken pieces of pallet and staked him swiftly, only to be tackled from behind. The vampire she thought she’d buried was at her throat. His fangs scraped across her collarbone as she heaved him off and scrambled to her feet. The vampire came at her, and she backhanded him with her fist, still clutching the stake. With a grunt of effort, she managed to drive the stake home, and the vampire exploded into dust.

Slinging the crossbow and quiver over her shoulder, she scrambled up on top of the pallets to look for Spike. She spotted him one row over, driving a vampire back the way they’d come in. He’d lost his axe and was fighting hand to hand, noticeably favoring his left arm.

Loading up her crossbow and taking aim, she yelled, “Spike! Look out!” The crossbow bolt shattered the blacked-out window, putting the grappling vampires directly in the path of a broad ray of sunshine. Spike yelped and rolled out of the light, holding up his hands to shield his face, but the other vampire wasn’t quick enough and burst into flame.

Buffy climbed down from the pallet and headed over to where Spike was busy blowing on his singed hands. When he saw her approaching, he glared.

“Might wanna warn a fellow before you pull a stunt like that.”

She grinned. “I said, ‘Spike, look out.’ What more did you want?”

Instead of responding, he held up his hand in a “shh” gesture. Cocking his head to the side, he seemed to be listening to something, then started off toward the back of the warehouse. Confused, Buffy followed, her mouth forming a silent “oh” as they came upon a girl, bound and gagged on the floor, but still alive, despite the bite marks on her neck.

Before Buffy could move, Spike was already crouched next to the girl, working at the knotted ropes to free her. She started sobbing as soon as he removed the gag, and he slid one arm around her and pulled her to her feet, murmuring, “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

She stared at Buffy with terrified eyes, like she wasn’t quite convinced it was over, then looked back at Spike. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking.

Spike just nodded. “Best get on home while it’s still light out,” he told her, showing her the way to the exit. “And be careful.”

As soon as the girl was gone, Buffy turned to Spike. “You knew she was there.”

“Thought I heard a second heartbeat.”

“Why would they…?”

“Leftovers.” He scowled. She wondered what that meant to him, if it reminded him of something from his past, but when he spoke again, all he said was, “You’re bleeding.”

She touched her own neck, and her fingers came away stained red. “It’s fine.”

“Come on outside,” he said, escorting her toward the door. “These cars come equipped with first aid kits, too.”

He fished the kit out of the trunk and rummaged around for some gauze and surgical tape. “Here,” he said, turning back to her. “I can, um…” He hesitated, as though waiting for her permission.

“It’s okay.” She tilted her head to the side while he bandaged the wound with shaking hands. They’d been like that in Sunnydale, too. So cautious, those last few days, so chaste, so afraid of anything that reminded them of the previous year, and they’d wasted the only time they had left.

Or at least that’s what she’d thought, until she found out he wasn’t dead after all.

“I believed you, you know,” Buffy said quietly. Spike glanced up from his work, a questioning look on his face. “When you said you didn’t just want me because I was unattainable.”

He sighed. “Can we not do this now?”

“But as soon as you had me, you turned me away,” she went on, ignoring him. “You left me.”

“I didn’t leave, Buffy. I _died_.”

“Well, it didn’t stick. And now you’re back and… you don’t want me.”

They both looked up at the same time and their eyes met. Shame flickered across Spike’s face before he turned away from her, packing the bandaging materials back into the first aid kit. “I never said that. Said I don’t want you here. There’s a difference.”

“I thought you loved me.” She hated how fragile and pathetic she sounded, but she couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

He stilled his motions, and his shoulders tensed beneath his coat, but he didn’t turn around to look at her.

“Is there any burn cream in there?” she asked, when his silence became too much for her to bear. “You should put something on those hands.”

“They’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I’ve had worse done to ’em.” He tossed the first aid kit back into the trunk, but when he reached out to close the trunk with his left arm, he winced in pain and quickly switched to the other.

“What happened?” Buffy asked, concerned. Without asking permission, she gently ran her hands up his sleeve. Even through the leather, she could feel the bones out of place. “Spike, it’s broken.”

“Nothing we can do about it here. Fred can set it when we get back to the office.”

She was standing close to him, too close, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go. She glanced up to find him looking at her, his expression soft. “Spike…”

“You know I did,” he said quietly. “Still do.”

“But you didn’t want to be with me?”

He closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh before he opened them again. “It wouldn’t be fair to either of us,” he said. “What would I do? Seek you out, intrude on your new life, ask you to keep a promise you didn’t mean?”

She let him go, backed away and stared at him, the shock and the hurt rising up and forming a tight knot in her chest. “You really thought I didn’t love you.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, matter of fact, and his face pleaded such innocence that she knew he wasn’t saying it to hurt her. “Isn’t that what I told you? Right before the… you know.”

“I thought you were just being a jerk!”

“Buffy, it’s the bloody end of the world. You think I’m going to stand there and argue with you just to be contrary?”

She gave him a skeptical look. “You? Yeah.”

Spike rolled his eyes and snorted. “Fair enough.” He seemed to think that settled things, digging through his pockets for the car keys and handing them to her. “Think you’re gonna have to drive, pet.”

“Sure,” she replied absently, taking the keys from him. “Are you sure you trust me with this car?”

He shrugged. “It’s Angel’s. Do whatever you want to it.”

She got in the car and started it up as though she were on autopilot, her thoughts still back on their conversation. Once she’d pulled out of the alley and into the L.A. traffic, she glanced over at him.

“About what you said,” she started hesitantly. “I thought it was, I don’t know. You trying to be noble or something.”

“Noble,” Spike repeated. He sounded a little bit dubious.

“Yeah. I mean, I was – confused, okay? All that time you’d been telling me I loved you, and how we belong together, and then when I finally admit it, you’re all, ‘No, you don’t’? What was I supposed to think? I figured you were being self-sacrificing, refusing to accept it because you knew you were going to die.”

“That does make me sound noble.”

“Don’t mock me.” She glared at him, then remembered she ought to keep her eyes on the road. “It hurt. It hurt to think that you would throw that back in my face, when you knew how hard it was for me to say –”

She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “Forget it,” she said bitterly. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I never meant to hurt you. I just – wanted you to know I understood.”

“Understood what?”

He reached over and put a hand on her arm. “I’m sure it felt true at the time. Heat of the moment and all that. And I appreciated it, really I did. But I knew why you said it. I was dying, Buffy. You never thought I’d come ’round afterwards holding you to your word.” He shrugged. “That’s why I never told you I was back.”

Now she was shaking, and she shouldn’t be shaking this hard when she was driving a car, but her face felt like a thin shell masking a wall of tears, and she struggled valiantly against a complete breakdown.

“You still don’t believe me,” she breathed, just before the car crashed into the vehicle ahead of them.


	4. Chapter 4

“Spike,” Angel said through gritted teeth. “What the _hell_ did you do to my car?”

Not for the first time, he was disturbed to find himself thrust into a parental role, as Buffy and Spike stood shamefaced in front of his desk, heads bowed. Both of them bore the expected cuts and bruises, as well as a few injuries that looked more like battle wounds. Given the way they were studiously avoiding looking one another in the eye, he couldn’t help wondering if they’d done that to each other.

“Now, hang on a bloody minute –”

“He didn’t do anything,” Buffy cut in. “It was me. I was driving.”

Angel blinked in surprise. “You?” Wanton destruction was par for the course where Spike was concerned, but Buffy usually had a leveler head than that. She was a pretty terrible driver, though.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and the car in front of us stopped at a red light and I didn’t see it and –”

“Buffy, it’s okay. It’s only a car. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” He glanced at Spike, who seemed to be cradling his left arm with care, and then back at the bloody bandage on Buffy’s throat. “Worse than you already are,” he amended with a sigh. “Fred’s waiting for you in the lab. She can set that arm.”

Spike nodded and immediately headed for the door, but Buffy lingered in front of the desk, watching Spike’s back as he left the room. “You should go get checked out, too,” Angel said.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Still, you should –”

“I’m going back to Rome.”

The abruptness of her announcement startled him. “But I thought –”

“My being here isn’t doing either of us any good, Angel. Spike’s made it pretty clear how he feels.” She gave him a tight, humorless smile. “There’s only so many hurtful remarks a girl can take, you know?”

He should’ve known it was a bad idea, asking her to stay. It killed him to see her torn up like this – and over Spike, of all people. “Look, Buffy, you probably don’t want to hear this, but maybe you’re better off. Everything’s out in the open now and you both can move on.”

“Better off?” she replied incredulously. “Of course. I forgot who I was talking to.”

“What do you want me to say? You think I want to see you with Spike?” He held up his hands, palms out. “I love you both, and I want you to be happy, but we’re reaching the bounds of my maturity here.”

Buffy sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I – did you just say you love Spike?”

“Let’s not dwell on that.”

She almost managed a genuine smile. “Well, um – I guess I should go make some calls. I’ll take the first flight I can get.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the door and then back at him like she was waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. “Anyway, thanks for everything.”

She pulled him into a tight hug, her face pressed into his chest. His arms encircled her, and he couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d held her like this, the last time she’d sought his comfort. The day Spike had burned up in the Hellmouth.

As they broke apart, he said, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Spike.”

“No, you’re not.” She hesitated, and a strange expression crossed her face. “But thanks for saying it.”

*****

Fred made _tsk tsk_ noises as she finished wrapping Spike’s arm. He’d refused a plaster cast, claiming that vampire healing made it unnecessary, but had submitted to an Ace bandage and a sling. When she was finished, she took his reddened hands in hers and sighed.

“The abuse these poor appendages have seen,” she teased him. “Do you want me to do anything for the burns?”

Spike shook his head. “Be gone in a day or so. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“You try to keep up with your exercises now, best you can. Don’t want everything to stiffen up after all that work you did.”

“You mean Donkey Kong?” He smiled. “Yeah, real hardship, that is.”

“Well, keep it up,” she repeated, escorting him out of the lab. As he headed for the elevator, she called after him, “And try not to do any more damage!”

As he waited for the elevator, Spike couldn’t help the little grin that crept onto his face. Fred somehow always managed to cheer him up. His good mood faded almost immediately, though, when the elevator doors opened to reveal Angel.

“I was just looking for you,” he said, in a voice that commanded obedience, the likes of which Spike hadn’t heard since they were both soulless. “Get in.”

Warily, Spike stepped in the elevator and pressed the button for the garage. He needed to get out of this place, go home to his rat-hole apartment, where at least he’d have some peace and quiet. Maybe a drink or six to clear his head.

Angel, apparently, had other plans. Abruptly, he reached over and yanked the elevator’s red emergency stop button.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spike sputtered, as the elevator came to a stop between floors with a sickening lurch.

“We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.”

“I want to talk about Buffy.”

“Oh, here we go.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Gonna tell me I’m a bad influence? I should stay away from her? Heard it all before, mate. Besides, I’m not the one you need to be telling it to. Never wanted her here in the first place.”

“No kidding. You’ve been pushing her away ever since she got here. You think being mean to her is gonna hurt any less than whatever you think will happen if you’re actually honest with each other?”

“None of your business, that.”

“Well, I’m making it my business.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her. And because you’re an idiot.”

“Leaving her alone was the only smart thing I ever did,” Spike said.

“Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear giving you advice about Buffy, but I’ve been on the loved-and-lost boat a few times now.” Spike snorted at that, but Angel continued, undeterred. “You know how Cordelia came back, for that one day?”

Spike nodded. “The coma thing.”

“Yeah. The thing is, I loved her. And she loved me. But we waited too long, and we never got a chance to be together, to see if we could make it work.”

“You do have a thing for cheerleaders, don’t you?” Spike said, his mouth curving into a smirk.

“Shut up,” Angel replied, the words coming out almost like a reflex. “The point is, you have a second chance with Buffy. And you’re this close to blowing it because you can’t get your head around the fact that she loves you.”

Spike’s head snapped up, and he studied Angel’s face for any sign of insincerity. He found none.

“Oh, come on,” Angel said, when he didn’t respond right away. “Don’t make me spell it out for you. She’s here, for crying out loud! Doesn’t that tell you something?”

He pressed the emergency stop button back into place, and the elevator jerkily came to life. Having said his piece, Angel stood back and relaxed, as though this were a perfectly normal elevator ride. Spike stared at him in disbelief.

When the elevator stopped at Angel’s floor, he stepped out, then turned back to look at Spike. “Oh, and when you talk to her, do me a favor and tell her I was really mature about the whole thing.”

*****

Buffy’s eyes flickered open, and she took in the unfamiliar shadows of the Wolfram & Hart guest suite’s bedroom, all tilted ninety degrees from her vantage point with her head on her pillow. The glow of the digital alarm clock by her bedside told her it was still the middle of the night, and she tried to figure out what had woken her up. Then, she felt it.

Felt him.

She eased herself up to a sitting position and directed her words to the dark shadow in the corner of the room. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you – the stalking thing? Not really a turn-on.”

He stepped toward her, slipping out of the shadows to hover at the foot of the bed. The duster was gone, and his left arm was in a sling. “Might’ve heard that before, yeah. But I’m not really one to learn from my mistakes.”

“Sit,” she said, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp. He obeyed silently, perching at her feet, head bowed as he fiddled with the dressings on his arm. When he didn’t speak right away, she said, “I know you’re a creature of the night and all, but I do have an early flight tomorrow. I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” he said. “About that.” Her breath caught in her throat and she stilled, waiting – hoping – for him to tell her not to go, to give her a reason to stay. “Why did you come here?” he asked finally.

“I needed to see you.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Listen, what you said today –”

“I’m sorry,” he cut in. “I’m a jerk. I shouldn’t have –”

“No. No, you were right. Why should you have believed me? I wasn’t even sure I believed it until you were…” She swallowed hard, not meeting his eyes. “Okay, so I’m stupid and emotionally stunted or – or whatever, and maybe you’re right. Maybe I didn’t get it back in Sunnydale.” She glanced up, her expression pleading. “But I’m here now, and you’re here, and neither one of us is dying, and I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Even in the dim light, she could see the myriad of emotions flicker across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again without saying anything. Sighing, he stood up and walked over to the window, silhouetted against the twinkling lights of the city below.

Buffy climbed out of bed and padded across the room to stand next to him, slipping her hand tentatively into his. “I don’t understand why you’re still pushing me away.”

“Finally made things right, didn’t I? After everything, we were – I don’t know what we were, but it was the best we’d ever been. Gave you everything I could, said our goodbyes, and that was supposed to be the end.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” Closing her eyes, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Softly, she asked, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Dying was – easier, you know?” He glanced down at their joined hands, and then at her. “Meant I didn’t have a chance to screw it up again.”

Buffy lifted her head, pulling him around to face her. “Is that what you meant, back then? When you said you were terrified?”

“Part of it, yeah. I don’t know how to do this, with you. And if I screw up –”

“It’s not the end of the world,” she finished for him, cupping his face in her hands so he had to meet her eyes. “You probably will screw up. And so will I. But we’ll get through it.” She paused, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Or maybe we won’t. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. I missed out on whatever we could’ve had in Sunnydale because I was afraid to try. I was afraid to let it mean something. And then you were gone, and I’d missed my chance.”

Spike let out a small chuckle. “Angel said the same thing.”

Buffy furrowed her brow. “He did?” And once again she was wondering exactly what Angel meant when he said he loved Spike.

“Not about – never mind. Point is, he told me not to miss my chance. Except he called me names while he was doing it.”

“I could call you names if you want,” she said with a grin, sliding her arms around his neck.

“I have a better idea,” he said, and then he was kissing her.

*****

“So Angel and I go charging in, swords drawn and all that. And then the P'dufa demon – have you ever seen a P'dufa demon?”

She gave him a sleepy smile and shook her head. They were lying on Buffy’s bed, curled into each other with her head resting on Spike’s shoulder and his good arm wrapped around her, idly playing with her hair as he talked. It was nearly four a.m. but she couldn’t bear to go to sleep, not when Spike was here and they’d missed so much during their time apart.

“P'dufa demons secrete this thick, black paste, like pitch. Nasty stuff. So it shoots its wad right at Angel, yeah? And he tries to keep on running, but his feet are stuck to the ground!” Spike chuckled at the mental image. “So while he’s cursing and hollering – impotent as usual – I sneak up behind the thing and take its head off in one fell swoop.”

She studied him for a moment, then she grinned. “You totally got slimed, didn’t you?”

The look of indignation on his face was priceless. “Damn P'dufa guts spurted out of its neck like a bloody faucet!”

“So what about the children? Did you find them?”

“Sure did. Once we pried our shoes out of the pitch, we started exploring the cave, and there they were.”

“In another sticky puddle of demon gunk?”

“Got it in one.” A smile crept onto his face at the memory. “It was worth it, though. Seeing the parents’ faces when we brought back their little ones…”

“Angel was right,” she said, marveling at his enthusiasm. “You really do like this champion thing.” Making the big, noble sacrifice was one thing, but she hadn’t expected Spike to take to the day-to-day hero stuff.

“Champion,” Spike repeated with disdain. “Makes it sound so poncy. But it’s been good, yeah. Like taking the training wheels off this soul of mine. Not that I haven’t made a fool of myself a time or two, but I’m starting to figure things out, you know, on my own.”

“Out of my shadow,” she said quietly. She thought back to the girl in the warehouse, how Spike hadn’t hesitated to help her, hadn’t waited for Buffy to take the lead. Maybe he needed that space. “I understand.”

“You – what?” Spike pulled away and stared at her for a moment, then his furrowed brow slowly smoothed as realization dawned. “You’re still getting on that plane.”

She nodded. “I have responsibilities. Dawn. My slayers. I’m training a squad in Rome. I can’t just abandon them.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “And I can’t ask you to come with me. I see that now. You were right, the other day. I did expect you to just… follow me. I thought I could show up and take you back to Rome like nothing had changed. But what you’re doing here –” She took a deep breath, scarcely able to believe she was saying this. Was she really going to give up Spike, so soon after she’d found him again? “It’s important, and you should see it through.”

“It’s not that important, really,” he protested half-heartedly.

“No, but it is!” Buffy pushed herself up, sitting cross-legged so she could face him. “Okay, see, you’re cookie dough, and you’re not done baking –”

“Ohhh, no,” Spike groaned. “Angel told me about this. You can eat cookie dough, you know. Lots of people do it.”

“That’s not the point!” She grabbed a pillow and swatted at him.

“Ow! Hey.” He held up his arm to block. “One-handed here.”

Buffy let the pillow fall back onto the bed and started running her fingernail along the hem of the sheet, growing serious again. “You know I’m right about this, Spike.”

He sighed. “Yeah, it’s nice, being here, finding out who I am when I don’t have someone to guide me. But – it’s nothing I can’t give up to be with you.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t. That’s not fair. You should – you should have this. I’m not going anywhere. Or, well, I am, but I mean, emotionally, I’ll still –”

“I get it, Buffy,” he said softly, and she could read the acceptance in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

“You and Angel can… bond or something.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered as he gathered her back into his arms. “Buffy, your flight’s in a few hours. Couldn’t you at least put it off for a bit and –”

“That’ll only make it harder.” She leaned over and kissed him with everything she had. “I love you. And when you’re ready, you know where to find me.” She smiled, blinking back tears. “But let’s try not to go so long between visits next time, okay?”


End file.
